


Coming Close

by Steadfxst



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Arguing, Drinking, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Kissing, Platonic Cuddling, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 13:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14694798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steadfxst/pseuds/Steadfxst
Summary: On the anniversary of his wife and child's deaths, Flynn finds himself staring at the bottom of a bottle until Jiya comes along to stop him. It makes Flynn realize just how long it's been since he had been in the presence of someone who had never shed blood.He aches.





	1. Prologue

“How much have you had today?”

Flynn holds the bottle up in front of his face before holding it out to her.

“This much,” he says, taking another swig.

“Okay, I’m cutting you off.”

Jiya swipes the bottle from his hand with surprising ease, which gives her pause. Flynn was an assassin. A trained fighter. He could have easily evaded her grab if he had wanted to.

“Are you okay?”

He looks up at her from his spot on the couch with a bitter grin.

“Never better, little girl.”

There are tears in his eyes. She gives his pet name a pass. (For now.)

“You’re a mess.”

He laughs in spite of himself.

“And you,” he says. “Look gorgeous.”

“Okay, you definitely need to sleep this off, and then we’re going to have a serious talk about boundaries.”

Obviously in agreement, Flynn stands, takes a step forward, and stumbles. She catches him by his arm, and he’s grateful.

“Should I call for back-up? Maybe Wyatt—”

“Not Wyatt,” he snaps.

Her eyebrows go up.

“Okay, fine. Not Wyatt. Mason or Rufus then. Someone to make sure you’re, like, not gonna drink yourself to death. Why _are_ you drinking yourself to death, by the way?”

He pulls away from her.

“It’s none of your concern.”

Jiya puts her hands on her hips.

“Fine. Take your drunk ass back to your own bed. See if I care if you fall out of bed and hit your head. I don’t have to take this from you.”

Flynn doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he bows to her, arm swept to the side.

“My apologies,” he says.

He stumbles out of his common area and down the hall to his quarters. She hesitates for a moment; she sighs.

“Damn it,” she says to herself.

She follows him.


	2. Chapter 2

Jiya softly knocks on his door and waits. Nothing. She sighs in frustration. He was obviously in there. It wasn’t like there were a ton of places he could be, _and_ she’d seen him walk in. She knocks again, this time with a little more force.

The door opens.

“Come to mother hen me some more?” he asks.

She frowns, opens her mouth to say she was just trying to make sure he was okay (asshole), but she stops short. Under his arm, she sees his room is trashed. Flynn follows her line of sight and closes the door more, but it was too late.

“What the hell is going on?” she asks.

There’s no venom in her words this time. Something was up, but Flynn was clearly internalizing it. This was beyond something that might’ve happened on a time trip or between him and someone else from the team. This felt…different.

Flynn sighs and let’s go of the door. He gestures for her to come in. Curious and concerned, she does. He shuts the door. 

Jiya crosses her arms and turns to face him.

“Okay, we’re alone now. Total privacy. _Now_ will you tell me what—”

Before she can finish her question, Flynn’s mouth is on hers. Her eyes widen as he presses her up against the door, hands already on her waist.

She curls her hand into a fist and uppercuts him right in the stomach.

With a grunt of pain, he pulls away from her, curling over, hands clutching the point of impact. She wipes her mouth off with the back of her hand.

“What the fuck was that?” she asks.

Flynn laughs in a pained manner.

“It seems I misread some signals,” he says. He sits down on the edge of his bed. “You pack quite a punch, by the way.”

“Thanks. Ten years of karate. And yeah, you did.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Honestly.”

He reaches for a bottle—different from the one he had in the living room—and unscrews the cap. He takes a long drink and sets it back down with a grimace. He lies down on the bed.

“I think you owe me an explanation.”

She watches his throat work as he swallows over a lump. He turns his face to look at her, hands still protectively covering his stomach.

“Five years ago today, my wife and child were taken from me. I guess you could say I’m not handling it well.”

Jiya uncrosses her arms.

“I think that would be an understatement,” she says, no malice in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

Jiya takes a step forward.

“Why did you think I was coming over here?” she asks.

“To comfort an old man,” he says.

His eyes are shining again.

“And you thought that meant I’d sleep with you.”

Flynn shrugs.

“It’s what I do every year. Go out, drink too much, find a sympathetic soul, take her home…I can’t exactly go out and take someone back here though, can I?”

Jiya steps over the debris on the floor and sits down beside him.

“I’m sorry I punched you.”

“Don’t be. I deserved it.”

“You did, didn’t you?”

He gives her a weak smile.

Jiya reaches out and takes one of his hands in hers. His hand is large and warm. 

“There’s more than one kind of support, Flynn.”

He squeezes her hand.

“Thank you,” he says. “Will you stay? I’ll be good.”

She thinks about it for a moment, assessing his possible intentions.

“Okay,” she says. She kicks off her shoes. “Scoot over.”

“What?”

“It’s what my mom always did when I was sad. She’d come to my room and hold me until I felt a little better.”

He moves back until she has enough space to lie down on the small bed. It wasn’t really meant for two people.

“Turn over,” she says.

“Why?”

“So I can be the big spoon.”

He looks bewildered, still unused to a team whose goal was to rally around its members rather than trying to break them down further. But he listens. Her arm wraps around his stomach, which was thankfully feeling less sore now. He feels her forehead rest against a spot between his shoulders.

“So—”

“Don’t make this weird. I’m helping you.”

He laces his fingers through hers and holds it against his chest.

“You are,” he says.

“You’re the creepy uncle, but you’re our creepy uncle now, okay?”

She feels his chest tremble with a silent laugh.

“Okay.”


End file.
